Behind the Clouds
by Mighty ANT
Summary: A series of short, unrelated Cars oneshots. -Based on the 100 Theme Challenge- Romance, Angst, Humor, ect. Set throughout both movies. #74-Midnight- Finn stays up late at C.H.R.O.M.E. HQ
1. Complicated

**#2-Complicated**

**Surrounding my fic 'Clarity'**

* * *

Life in general was complicated.

Finn couldn't simply barge into a 'bad guy's' hideout, demand that they surrender and come with him quietly. He couldn't even go to an elegant restaurant without being called out on another mission, or have someone shoot at him.

Life—in general—didn't wish to be fair to him.

And Finn knew that nothing ever was—fair, that is. There was always some sort of emergency; an appointment missed…a life lost.

When he was left with only a child to remember his lost love, Finn's life became a hell of a lot more complicated. The-entire-world-caving-in-on-him kind of complicated.

He had swiftly found the only _sane _thing to do: give the child up. She was taken in by a loving family, Finn would never see her again and he could get on with his life to the best of his ability.

But fate had other plans for him—of course.

So, now he was in the most extraordinary position of having his long-lost daughter as his partner.

And she still didn't know truth.

If Finn told her, she would be overjoyed….but on the other hand—the more complicated one—she might also be furious for not having been told sooner…

He didn't pretend to understand the female mind.

**~Cars 2 (c) PIXAR 2011~**


	2. Accuracy

**#61 Accuracy**

_Contains: Mater/Holley _

_~Cars 2 (c) PIXAR 2011~_

* * *

Holley prided herself in the fact that despite her rank as a 'rookie' spy, she was an excellent shot.

There wasn't a weapon one Earth she couldn't handle flawlessly, and have it hit the designated spot. Whether it be a simple pistol, rifle, or revolver, her mark was perfect and exact.

Accuracy was her 'forte'.

She was smart, with an outstanding wit, along with enough gadgets and gizmos to put a Swiss Army knife to shame. Holley knew what kind of cars to associate herself with, (purely by instinct) and which to avoid completely. She was an exceptional judge of character, and could read most cars' emotions well.

Except for _him_.

Oh, she could read him easily enough—a blind and deaf fool could've with little problem—but it was his mind-set, to put it mildly, that surprise her.

He was smitten with her from the start—as of the first moment he laid eyes on her at the party in Tokyo. She'd ignored his advances, or tried too, at least. He was an old, rusted tow truck, American spy or not, and she shouldn't associate with him further than cautious partnership.

And yet, she felt her supposed 'perfect accuracy' fail her as she fell in love with the least likely of suitors.

**EDIT:**

**Eldunari Liduen—because it's the 100 Theme Challenge all of the numbers are out of order**


	3. Tears

_**#18 Tears **_

_~Set during the first 'Cars' movie~_

_~Cars (c) PIXAR 2011~_

* * *

Everyone cried. It was a plain fact of life, that everyone had shed tears at _least_ once in their lifetime.

And for Sally this was no different.

She had experienced breakups, like any other woman, and had her heart smashed into oblivion a time or two. But that had been years ago, back when she had resided in Los Angeles, living life in the fast lane and enjoying the perks of her star-spangled job. Not that there were many, of course.

And tears were spilled when she realized that this life—the one of luxury that had been cleanly laid out for her—wasn't what she wanted.

And so she drove.

There was no rhyme or reason for it, but Sally had simply wanted to get away from it all. From the pressure of her job, her life in general, and what other people expected of her. She wanted to live her own life, and there were those who wouldn't allow her to do so. Therefore, she just…left.

Tears gathering in the corner of her eyes, the Porsche had fled from Los Angeles, driving for hours on end, until she finally broke down outside an abandoned motel. And from there, her new life had commenced.

Sally had nearly cried upon seeing the state of disrepair the town was in, and promptly encouraged everyone to try and 'spruce it up' a bit, for the few travelers that came their way. She had brought back something in that little town, something _almost_ akin to hope. All through the power of tears.

* * *

Tears of sorrow were commonplace, as confirmed previously. But as Sally watched the small television screen before her, displaying the rookie racecar's visage—and that of the older racecar he was pushing—her tears were ones of joy.


	4. 33

**#11 33%**

_Set during 'Cars 2'_

_~Cars 2 (c) PIXAR 2011~_

* * *

Sarge and the rest of the pit crew couldn't do much more than give advice, fill the kid up with gas, or replace tires.

There was no way that any one of them could ever measure up to Doc, he was irreplaceable, but they did their best as the five consecutive crew chiefs/pit crew. In the regular Piston Cup races they were enough, giving instruction, praise, and at times when the kid needed it, criticism.

They learned most of the dynamics of racing, and had Luigi and the kid to help them along the way. They 'had it in the bag'.

But this entire Grand Prix thing was just something else.

This time they weren't just up against stockcars—they would be racing touring cars, rally, endurance, and even the dreaded Formula One, fasted in the world.

And while they all had full faith in the kid, they still worried. These weren't like the races they were used to—not by far.

And by Sarge's account, he only counted for about 33% of total 'helping' status.

Fillmore was the one for fuel, Guido and Luigi for tires and speed respectively, and Mater the encouragement. And so the Jeep was….everything else.

While Sarge couldn't do much, other racers soon began smoking, and as a result getting injured when crashing into one other, he soon realized that 33% would have to be enough.

* * *

**A/N: Set before Sarge switched the Allinol fuel for Fillmore's organic mixture**


	5. Separation

**#55 Separation**

_Mater/Holley_

_~Cars 2 (c) PIXAR 2011~_

* * *

Every goodbye was more difficult than the last.

What could very well be their last embrace.

The last laugh.

The final kiss.

But the farewells were always the worst.

Mater knew that the time he and Holley spent together could be fleeting, how she could be at his side once minute, and off on the other side of the world the next.

Finn realized this as well, although hardly ever voiced his opinion. If not, they would most likely figure it out for themselves.

But that didn't make the valediction hurt any less.

Whenever a goodbye was said, the couple would make plans for a future date, deciding on what they would do the next day, even when the fact remained that there might not even _be _a tomorrow for some of them.

They would hug, or kiss, or simply make a joke about the entire thing before Holly would board Siddeley, Finn always watching the entire time, a poignant look in his eyes.

And no matter how many times they said goodbye, there was still the chance that it could very well be their last.


	6. Running Away

**#13 Running Away **

_Set during the first 'Cars' movie once again_

_~Cars (c) PIXAR 2006-2011~_

* * *

He rode over the faded, cracked cement, swiftly changing into pitch black, shining tarmac, tires squealing slightly against the new blacktop, glancing to his left.

And there it was.

Miles of endless paved asphalt, as far as the eye could see, roving gently through the desert. His ticket to freedom.

The stockcar could very well take off at that very moment—had had a tank full of gas, the hot sun on his hood, and the Interstate (most likely) only a few miles away.

He could very well leave these strangers behind—leave this entire hillbilly-hell of a town behind—and concentrate on his race; on winning.

Idling in the shade of a rare tree, Lightning McQueen stared unmoving for a moment at the stretch of road before him, feeling the residents' gazes locked on him, waiting to see what he would do. He heard the distinct click of the Sheriff turning on his lights, but even if he did leave, there was no way the old cruiser would _ever _be able to catch up with him on plain asphalt, without any obstructions in the way.

It occurred to him then, that if he did drive off, off into the sunset so to speak, no one would be able to stop him. He could—

"Hey, Stickers," Sally called, interrupting his train of thought."You comin' or what?"

With a slowly growing smile, the stockcar went into reverse, before following the Porsche.

It looked like his mind had been changed for him.

* * *

**A/N: This is one of my favorite oneshots. Whenever I watched this scene in the movie, this idea would just suddenly pop into my head...I finally made myself write it this time. Reviews would be greatly appreciated!**


	7. Shades of Grey

**#34 Shades of Grey**

_~Cars 2 characters (c) PIXAR 2011~_

* * *

Holley had remained strong the entire week. From the day of the flight, to the service, not a tear was shed.

Several friends came to express their condolences, even the head of the MI6 and C.H.R.O.M.E arriving. The residents of Radiator Springs did everything they could, and all came with her to London.

The ceremony was a somber affair, simple and plain, as he would've wanted it. Holley managed to maintain her stiff upper lip for most of the service, until they drove out onto the grass.

The Jaguar was instantly plagued by memories...how she should have stayed as lookout, as she'd been told, instead of gallivanting off to save the day. She should've had his back…and had she been paying attention, none of this would've been happening.

That was when she broke.

Torrents of fresh tears cascaded past her hood, falling down her cab as she leaned heavily against Mater, her beau's front bumper tightening in order to keep his own sobs under control, although tears glimmered in the corner of his eyes nonetheless.

And the world took on an instant shade of grey, as they lowered Finn McMissile into the ground.

* * *

_**A/N: Remember, these are UNRELATED Cars oneshots...**_


	8. Making History

**#3 Making History**

_~Cars (c) PIXAR 2006-2011~_

* * *

The rookie racecar braked abruptly, tires squealing against the asphalt, smoke rising up from beneath the rubber, before coming to a standstill—less than a foot away from the finish line.

The crowd gasped collectively, looking on in confusion as he let Chick Hicks race past, winning the Piston Cup, before beginning to drive back in reverse—heading towards the wrecked and smoking Plymouth Superbird.

Lightning McQueen had definitely changed, and both his friends and fans alike watched in awe as he began pushing the King towards the finish line.

Applause began to sprout up, faint however, seeing as how most cars were still in shock, and McQueen didn't have to look up to know that his image was plastered across the jumbo screen.

He didn't even care about the fact that he was going to gain tons of free publicity after this—the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

But as he pushed the old Plymouth Superbird over the finish line, and the stands erupted into frenzied shouts and cheers, the proud gaze of a certain old Hornet was what made it all worth it.

* * *

**A/N: Is now taking sugestions! You're idea may not be used, but there's always a chance! Reviews help fuel...inspiration 'n stuff. **

**And yes, the last chapter was pretty... morbid. I felt depressed while WRITING it.**

**Oh, and I wrote a Monster's INC. oneshot-go read it (and don't forget to review) please! **

***Kudos to SevenStar for the correction* **


	9. Breaking Away

**#25 Breaking Away **

_Companion piece to 'Making History'_

_~Cars (c) PIXAR 2006-2011~_

* * *

The kid was a stuck-up little punk, and he knew it.

And while Strip 'the King' Weathers wasn't usually one to judge, having been a cocky rookie himself a few years ago (alright, _several _years ago) but the kid didn't even seem to care. Even though he didn't try to injure any other racers on the track—unlike a certain green stockcar—his smug smile made up for it.

Lightning was a talented kid, Strip would give him that, but he was absolutely too arrogant for his own good. One day, he was going to pay for his conceited attitude.

Heck, the Superbird had attempted to give the rookie advice—which might've helped get the message through his thick hood had he been listening—only for the kid to zone out the entire time! And judging by the way his dreamy gaze drifted towards elder stockcar's lavish sponsor's tent, Strip was pretty sure he knew what McQueen was thinking about.

The kid just didn't get it.

And sure, the King was a bit worried about Lightning when he disappeared for an entire week, but when the rookie finally returned, the Superbird had to admit that he seemed….different.

The cocky swagger and smile were still in place, as if the kid hadn't been missing in the middle of nowhere and instead having gone clubbing at some seaside mansion. But on the track...the rookie appeared distracted, to put it mildly. He obviously couldn't concentrate on the race, which only a few days ago had been dead-set on winning, instead losing momentum and nearly crashing into the wall.

It was only later that the fire returned to his eyes, and with a quick glance towards the jumbo screen, the #43 car found the Fabulous Hudson Hornet's visage plastered across it. Surrounding the old Hornet (as if Strip was one to talk) were several other cars, none of them resembling one another in the slightest. It seemed as if the kid had found himself a crew chief and pit crew after all this time.

That didn't mean Strip would go any easier on him, of course.

The race continued, Lightning quickly gaining, and Chick Hicks seemed to become increasingly agitated. The King refused to let the lime green stockcar pass, and when the kid raced by them, he had all but thrown himself against the elder racecar.

Time progressed, and McQueen was nearing the finish line now, Strip could see that, and there was a sort of grim satisfaction to it as the Superbird continued to block Chick Hicks, but with a sudden cry of fury, Strip was roughly slammed into from behind, and went careening off of the track. Had he been going at a much tamer speed, and not around a turn, perhaps the elder racecar would've simply spun out onto the infield, but in reality, he was going at nearly two hundred miles an hour. There was no way he could've stopped.

And for one terrifying moment, the King defied gravity as he flew several hundred feet through the air, hitting the ground with an engine jarring crash, and rolling the next dozen feet, coming to a final, grueling stop dented, and smoking, covered in patches of dirt and oil.

Releasing a shaky breath, the Superbird pried his eyes open, one swollen and stinging, squinting in pain. Glancing down at his hood, Strip flinched automatically, only causing more pain. What had once been smooth blue metal, was now crumpled like tinfoil. His racing career was certainly over after this.

Blinking a few times, pain coursing through his entire frame, the King gazed out towards the track, finding the stadium strangely…quiet. He squinted again slightly as a familiar red blur caught his eye.

The kid?...what in the world was he doing?

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to RomansRoad for giving me the idea!**


	10. Dark

**#29 Dark **

_~Cars (c) PIXAR 2006-2011~_

* * *

An inky blackness seemed the shroud the county, the large full moon standing out against the opaqueness. Cadillac Range was nearly pitch black in the distance, almost blending in with the night sky in the background.

The sound of cars roaring down the Interstate seemed to have ceased, glistening head and taillights all that could be seen in the far-off-darkness.

Sitting just before the Wheel Well Motel, engines silent, Lightning and Sally gazed over the silent county spread out before them. Radiator Springs was black as pitch several hundred feet below, with the noticeable absence of the commonly seen neon lights. A blackout.

But instead of worrying with their friends, the pair had decided to drive up to the old motel, where the vantage point over the county would be far more beautiful than it was during the day. They were not disappointed.

The moon casted its pale light over the surrounding cliffs, glowing with an almost unearthly hue. Reflecting off of the two cars with a glittering glow, they shifted their gaze heavenward.

Possibly even more stunning than the panorama laid out before them, were the stars. Not a single cloud could be seen obscuring the view, just millions—_billions_—of incandescent lights twinkling merrily in a canvas of pure velvety blackness.

Their sides nearly touching, the couple remained silent, a ghost of a smile gracing both of their features as the dark county glistened in the moonlight. No words were needed.

* * *

**A/N: Well, I'm pretty sure all you guys heard about that huge black out yesterday? If you didn't, it spanned all the way from Orange County-near L.A- to Ensenada, Baja California, all the way to Arizona. And I was unfortunate enough to live right smack-dab in the middle of all that, so I went without power from around four o'clock to late last night. So no fans, no air conditioning-NOTHING. Over 4.1 MILLION people went without power...And anyway, I got this idea when I was looking out my window last night- don't ask why, I forgot- and all I saw were stars. The streetlights didn't work, neither did my porch light-there was absolutely no light whatsoever besides the moon and stars. And so, I dedicate this oneshot to all that.**


	11. Death

**#9 Death**

_~Surrounding my fic 'Alfa and Omega'~_

_'En route to Tokyo, Finn has to make a last minute stop, as to break the news about his companion's demise…..to his wife'_

_Anon: soon; in short while_

* * *

The small French city on the outskirts of Paris was alit with soft afternoon light, the sun's rays beginning to slowly sink down below the horizon. The buildings here were small and far apart, cottages of sort.

On the furthest reaches of town, in front of a bright chalet— which could only be reached by the winding dirt road that cut through the tall grass and wheat— an Aston Martin idling impatiently.

In the few seconds it took for the door to open, Finn McMissile shuffled anxiously from tire to tire on the stoop, soon hearing the subtle sound of rubber over wooden floor an instant before the antique oak door opened to reveal a teal Citroen DS, around the same age as the spy car. Soft sunlight splayed out across her hood, and the sound of wind chimes could be heard from further inside the cottage before she spoke, voice lined by a thick, although soft, French accent.

"Finn! Why, I haven't zeen you in ages!" she chirped in a rather surprised tone.

"It has been a while, Miss Turbo," the Aston Martin amended softly. The Citroen waved the formal name away dismissively.

"I have told you time and time again, zimply call me Adele."

"Of course, Miss Turbo."

Adele huffed lightly in annoyance, before a swiftly brightening, a soft smile gracing her grill, "My, where are my manners? Come in, come in. You remember my daughters, Alette and Erin, don't you? Because they're visiting from their—wait," the Citroen broke off, glancing curiously around the silvery spy car.

"Isn't Leland supposed to be with you?" her mahogany eyes were alit with confusion, and Finn felt his engine clench in guilt at her ignorance.

The British sports car began to slowly open his mouth, only for Adele to cut him off. "Is he coming anon?"

Locking eyes with the slightly older car, the Citroen felt her small smile begin to gradually slide off of her grill when met with the Aston Martin's remorseful gaze. And her expression soon morphed into one of horror as Finn McMissile—Leland's comrade and closest friend—began to slowly explain what had happened to her husband.

* * *

**A/N: Kudos to Eldunari Liduen for thinking of this right after I'd written it! Great minds think alike, eh?**

**To have understood this oneshot I don't really think you'd of had to read Alfa and Omega, but if you want more info on Adele, theres a forum (by Eldunari Liduen) called Collision of Worlds, in the 'Original Characters' section. If you would like to use Adele, you need my permision first!**

**And yes, I know...morbid title...**

**~Cars 2 characters (c) PIXAR 2011~**

**~Adele, Alette, Erin (c) me~ **


	12. Faith

**#30 Faith **

_~Cars 2 (c) PIXAR 2011~_

_Contains slight Mater/Holley_

_-Very Short-_

* * *

It had been a week since he last heard from them.

Holley had told him that I would be a routine mission, 'nothing to it', and Finn said they'd be back in less than three days.

That had been almost two weeks ago.

Mater had lost contact with them exactly seven days ago, and there were no messages, no calls…nothing.

It was clear that his friends didn't have the heart to tell him that the spies had most likely…perished, although they did bring up the topic (vaguely) at times.

For instance, Lightning had spoke of the fact that perhaps they didn't have any way to call him…or perhaps there wasn't even anyone left to call anymore.

The tow truck had brushed away their approaches, disbelieving every single one of them.

Mater had faith. So they _would _come back.


	13. Memories

**#77 Memories**

**~Dedicated to Doc Hudson/Paul Newman~ **

He drove over dirt

Dust blossoming under his tires

Engine roaring as desert landscape blurred past

Sun hanging low above him,

Shining brightly on his hood

The Pontiac-ornament shaped butte aglow in the sunlight

A town just beyond the rise

Where family peacefully resides

Strange but caring residents

Accidentally found

And bound by loss

He remembers his teachings

The wisdom and wit

Ever preceding his years

His mentor, father, and friend

But McQueen looked to his right

And he was still driving around Willie's Butte

Alone

* * *

**Henceforth, I declare this week to be Doc Hudson/Paul Newman Memorial Week. And for those who don't know this, today is the three-year anniversary of his death, in which wemourn the loss of an amazing actor, race car driver, film directer, humanitarian, and so on. And yes, I know that poetry isn't really my penchant, but it seemed to fit. **

**The next 2-3 posts will be about or surrouding Doc Hudson. **


	14. My Inspiration

**#20 My Inspiration**

_Cars Characters (c) PIXAR 2006-2011_

_~A mentor is someone whose hindsight can become your foresight~_

* * *

It was evident in nearly everything McQueen did.

Whenever he raced around a dirt track—whether it be Willie's Butte or a racetrack halfway across the country—Doc's mantra would ring through his mind as he executed the practiced and beautiful move. And he would smile to himself every time he did so.

His new outlook on life, taking things easy and slowing down from time to time—just getting away from fans and racing alike. To simply take a moment and _breath, _living without the pressures he usually had to deal with in the racing world.

McQueen still took his advice, even after so many years. He even got headlights because of the old car. Well that, and the fact that needed them for the Grand Prix...

You could plainly see his dedication every time he won another race, another Piston Cup to put on display. And every single one of them was for Doc.

Whenever the young racecar drove into the old Hornet's museum, simply to idle alone and look over old newspaper clippings, trophies, and pictures, if only to sit and reminisce in peace.

It was clear with every sticker, every paintjob that depicted the one and only award that the stockcar was truly and undeniably proud of winning, named after the elder racecar.

Every race he participated in, every trophy gained, was for one car, and one car only. His inspiration and reason to continue racing.

And one name said it all.


	15. Judgement

**#14 Judgment**

_Last oneshot dedicated to the Doc Hudson/Paul Newman Memorial Week _

_~Cars Characters © PIXAR 2006-2011~_

* * *

When waking up the following morning, Doc Hudson obviously hadn't been expecting to find the main road running through Radiator Springs horribly vandalized, a deep gash torn through the asphalt, going off in a wayward direction across the cement. To put it simply, the street looked downright awful.

And what's worse, some hotshot driver had done it—Sheriff had alerted the old Hornet that very night, but there hadn't been much for them to do at the moment, considering the time, other than throw the delinquent into the impound lot.

But currently on his way to the courthouse, Doc could feel his engine hum in irritation as he avoided the worst of the damage, skirting the deep crevice cutting haphazardly through that the tarmac. For the first time in a long while, the old car regretted how distanced his clinic was from the center of town.

With his Whitewalls crunching loose gravel, the elderly racer frowned heavily. It was decided; he was going to keep that delinquent road hazard in that impound lot for the rest of his miserable life.

Quickly nearing the large government building, Doc could hear his fellow residents beginning to quiet down, most likely by a prompting from Sheriff. If anyone (besides himself of course) knew how to instill fear, it was the police cruiser.

Finally reaching the courtroom, the Hornet shoved the double doors open with an annoyed turn of his left fender, driving through the pathway Radiator Springs' denizens had left him, Whitewalls moving smoothly over the polished wood as he began belting out orders and threats alike from the moment he entered. He could fee everyone's fearful gazes follow him to the podium, and remained on him as the lift elevated, leaving him a good four or five fleet above everyone's hoods.

And then his gaze landed on the accused.

The kid—for that was what certainly described him—was easily recognizable for what he really was. The tacky sponsors'' stickers and Lightyear tires spoke for themselves, and a cocky air was almost tangible around him. A racecar.

Doc felt his last threat die on his lips as he fully took in the stockcar's appearance, anxious smile and all. He couldn't even begin to fathom how that world had found after so long, having left him behind decades ago. It was surreal.

But the old Hudson Hornet was positive of one thing—the kid would _not _be staying. Not if he could help it.

* * *

**Credit to Eldunari Liduen for giving me the idea!**


	16. Acceptance

**#95 Acceptance **

_Cars 2 (c) PIXAR 2011_

_Made especially for RomansRoad and ruthc93!_

* * *

As time passed, Siddeley grew to trust the Aston Martin's judgment less and less.

Now Finn wasn't losing his mind, or dealing with a loss—the spy car was perfectly fine, sanity wise—and all of his missions were executed with the same accuracy and discipline, the similar precision and over-all confidence in one's self. But this particular problem had nothing to do with whether or not he was sane.

The Aston Martin—to put it simply—was an 'adrenaline junkie', as the jet had heard Holley call it once. And at the moment, Siddeley could only agree with her.

Especially now, that aircraft at _least _two thousand feet in the air, the Scottish plains whipping passed them, the enormous trees of the substantial forest resembling green specks at the speed he was going, and the elder spy car in question preparing to _jump out _of the jet, parachute already secured.

Holley had already attempted to coerce her partner out of his impulsive decision, but the Aston Martin ignored her urging with a barely suppressed grin, eagerly awaiting the perfect moment to roll off of the jet's ramp, and fall several thousand feet through loudly whooshing air. And so, it was Siddeley's turn to act.

"Please, Finn, be reasonable!" the jet called, a rarity, seeing as how he usually ceased any-at-all speech during flights, but for this he had to make an exception. "You're taking an unnecessary risk!"

"Righty-oh, old chap!" the elder car shouted back, the smile on his grill mirroring that of a giddy child on Christmas morning. "Nothing like some fresh air in order to get the oil flowing!"

"You're going to be a _splatter _of oil on the ground if you don't get your hood on straight!" Holley yelled heatedly over the sound of the rushing wind. "Cars will drive by and ask, 'hmm, I wonder what this silvery-blue smudge is?' and I'll answer, 'oh, that's just Finn McMissile, my _ex_-partner, who was too barmy to realize how stupid it was to jump out of a jet thousands of feet aboveground, traveling at speeds of over six hundred miles an hour!"

"You worry too much, Miss Shiftwell!" the Aston Martin admonished good-naturally, clearly unperturbed by his partner's argument. "You know my motto. You never feel more alive than when you are almost—"

"—almost dead, I know! But you're _daft, _you old git! This is going too far!"

The elder car only waved her worry away dismissively with a tire. "Finn, I truly believe that you should rethink this!" Siddeley began uncertainly, "Miss Shiftwell's right, it's not worth risking your life over."

"I beg to differ, old boy! I believe that I have lived a long and full life, despite my profession. And don't fret—I'll be on the ground in only a few moments!" the elder spy car assured, promptly rolling off of the ramp before his partner could stop him.

Siddeley watched his comrade descend with a vigilant eye, grudgingly admitting that the old car had indeed found the ideal place to land—a large clearing just below them, free of any obstructions.

Not that it had been worth the engine failure, of course, but who was he to attempt to stop the unstoppable.

* * *

**A/N: Please review! Oh, and please read my oneshot, 'Tomorrow'! Reviews on that would also be appreciated!**


	17. Advantage

**#82 Advantage**

_Set during the first movie _

_~Cars Characters © PIXAR 2006-2011~_

* * *

Sometimes being famous had its perks.

He was paid quite a hefty sum for his career, and never had to worry about money troubles. Lightning had endorsement, meaning he saw his face on posters, lunch boxes, and depicted as children's toys. He had thousands of loyal fans worldwide, and heck, most everyone knew his name.

But of course, with every upside, there was a downside to accompany it.

For example, between racing and his growing fame, McQueen hardly had a single waking moment to himself. There were always fans coming up to him to sign some sort of merchandise depicting his visage, and said fans were usually quite….psychotic, to put it mildly. Having fame meant he couldn't even drive down the street without being hounded by the press, have a microphone shoved into his face and cameras flash blindingly in his eyes. And along with that, not _everyone _knew his name. Two Italian vehicles were a perfect example.

When first arriving in the small, sorely abandoned town, Lightning had been beyond surprised to find that no one recognized him. And sure, that might've been because of the fact that the residents in said town didn't follow the racing circuit, or at least not the American one.

Luigi and Guido were…quite the characters, now that he thought about it. The first of the town's citizens to be quite amiable to him (aside from Mater, of course) and McQueen had easily—or at least attempted to—brush off their bargaining terms. And while the stockcar had made up for his arrogance and all-around attitude by becoming one of the Italian vehicles' first customer in years, Lightning still felt as if he should've done something more to apologize.

And with that thought in mind, the phone call was made.

Waiting for a few moments as the dial tone beeped, the stockcar was met with a familiar accented voice over the line after a few seconds. Smirking widely, McQueen said,"Hey, Schumacher, I heard you were still looking for a good place to find tires…"

* * *

**Michael Schumacher= red Ferrari that made Luigi and Guido faint at the end of the first movie **


	18. Party

**#50 Party**

_~Cars 2 Characters (c) PIXAR 2011~_

_Written for a very polite and awesome anonymous reviewer, going by the name of 'Sunny'_

_Inspiration thanks to three DA users' drawings__- AuroraSix, WootBear, and SmokerLongbottom_

* * *

Francesco Bernoulli hadn't really been looking forward to attending the Grand Prix party.

The Formula One race car would rather be touring the city—truthfully, he'd never been even _been_ to Tokyo before—there had been no need to. At the very least, he had the forthright ability to mock McQueen—even the stock car's own girlfriend had sided against him!—but other than that, he found next to no enjoyment having come from the festivities. It all just seemed like a scam for Axelrod to properly introduce every racer and gain popularity, increasing the suspense and anticipation for the upcoming races. And the drinks weren't even any good.

On top of that, there had also been far too few women to woo, and a majority of those who were there had been accompanied by their respective boyfriends. So it was…._almos_t no fun to flatter them.

And even so, while the Italian racer enjoyed the publicity and recognition coming to this party had given him—fame itself was his very embodiment, and he adored posing for pictures and giving interviews more than the next guy—but he would much rather celebrate his acceptance to the Grand Prix with a race around his home racing circuit in Porto Corsa, and perhaps share a bottle of fine wine with his close family and friends that the rest of the world knew nothing about.

With the multicolored strobe lights reflecting off of his paint, Francesco gave a petulant sigh. It was times like these that he wished McQueen had stayed, if only so that the Formula racer could rub his growing fame into the stock car's face…it was truly a beautiful thought. Perhaps he'd even pay his rival's girlfriend a visit….

Easily tuning out the conversations of the surrounding race cars, the Formula One was busy picturing McQueen's expression when he would for sure be beaten the following night, when his daydreams were suddenly interrupted by a slight bump to his back bumper.

Turning irritably, Francesco was fully prepared to reprimand the inconsiderate partygoer that had disrupted him, not to mention that the stranger made him spill his drink—no matter how horrible it had tasted— a string of Italian curses already on his lips, only to come nearly bumper to bumper with the Brazilian race car, and only female racer in the Grand Prix.

"Ah, _desculpe_," she quickly apologized; her mahogany eyes having seemed to permanently rooted the Formula One to the ground.

Francesco shook his hood, as if to clear his mind, "n-no, _va bene_, it's fine…" the Italian car found himself lost in her chocolate colored eyes once more, even able to make out the grey in the brown orbs before regaining his wits. The drink must've been stronger than he thought. "Carla, _é__ corretto_?"

The endurance racer smirked impishly, as if knowing of the Formula racer's momentary lapse in judgment and sense, and Francesco only thankful that his dark paint hid his blush. He couldn't even _begin_ to fathom why he was acting like this—as if he were some sort of uncertain schoolboy. "_Afirmativo_," Carla smiled. "And you are—"

"Francesco Bernoulli," the Italian interrupted proudly before he could stop himself, rising on his tires.

Carla's smile only grew wider," I know." Francesco felt his powerful engine whirr. A voice at the back of his mind—the more sensible and cocky one—openly questioned his sanity as to what in the _world_ he was doing, because while the endurance racer was indeed…quite beautiful, he had faced off against supermodels, actresses, singers, and not a single one of them had made him feel like this. There wasn't anything to do for it but smile.

But their brief meeting was cut short by an accented voice over the intercom, "introducing the Brazilian race car, number eight, Carla Veloso!"

Applause rang out from the gathered crowd, and the endurance racer in question grimaced,"uh oh." She turned back towards Francesco with an apologetic smile. "_Desculpa-me _again, but it seems that I am needed."

"_Non __é__ un problema_," the Formula car assured, rolling back as to give her room to leave. Carla smiled again, rolling down the incline on her way to the center of the spacious room, murmuring an "obrigado" behind her. The Italian's gaze followed her for a moment, before Francesco gathered a sliver of courage and called, "good luck on the race tomorrow!"

Carla faltered momentarily at the Formula One's sudden act of sportsmanship, but turned back towards him with a grin, "and to you as well!"

Francesco rolled back slightly, resting on his axles as watched her leave with an impish smile. Perhaps coming to this party _had_ been worth it…..

* * *

**A/N: Good Ford...I think I've created the first ever Carla/Francesco pairing on ...0_0 **

**May the Manufacturer help us all...**


	19. Failure

**#23 Failure **

_Cars and its characters belong to PIXAR Studios. I gain absolutely nothing from writing this_

_Prior reading of 'Compact Cube' is __recommended, but not necessary_

* * *

For Finn McMissile, failure was never an option.

Whenever he was given a mission, you could be assured of the fact that it would be completed flawlessly. Any uprising or anarchy would be put to rest by one of C.H.R.O.M.E.'s finest agents, and whether he was alone or not never mattered. When something was expected of him, may it be chasing down some murderous villain or repairing a government, Finn did not disappoint. The very concept of failure was alien to him. No matter what hardships he faced, the spy car always came out on top. The very thought of 'Finn McMissile' and 'failure' put together was impossible all on its own. And yet, it was inevitable.

The air was bitter, the kind of cold that no car should ever suffer, wind mixed with beads of icy sleet swirling rigidly through the air at unfeasible speeds. Thick snow, undisturbed and pure white covered nearly everything in sight, with only bits of grey rock peeking through. The outcrop that Finn idled on was nearly completely flat, framed on all sides—minus the front—by immensely thick stone walls, at least sixty feet tall. The flat plane was wide as well, over two hundred feet long at the most, broad enough for a small jet to land, if maneuvering precariously.

Finn was forced to keep his engine running, in fear of it freezing in the glacial weather, his breath coming out in steady puffs of steam, clouding in front of his bumper before the wind whisked it away. The Alps were always bitterly cold, this he knew, and already his heater was at the highest possible setting, and he still felt as if he were freezing from the inside out. Not that he'd ever show it of course. But the Aston Martin had not come to the furthest corners of France, nor to one of the greatest mountain ranges in Europe without a purpose other than admiring the view. Instead, the secret agent's gaze was trained on the three headstones set up before him, facing the full brunt of the cold.

The gravestones' inscriptions could barely be made out anymore, years' worth of ice and wind weathering away most of the words—though Finn had already committed them to memory—except for one. The newest tombstone was a slightly brighter gray than its duller companions, with its engraving still fairly legible. And it was those words that Finn's aqua eyes had hardly strayed from in the past twenty minutes.

"I still don't understand—" Siddeley began, the jet waiting semi-patiently several dozen feet away from the less stable portion of the outcrop, dwarfed comically by the rocky cliffs towering over the both of them, and he glanced up at them uncertainly before continuing –"why Miss Shiftwell couldn't join us. As your partner, she does deserve the right to know. You are aware of the dangers that secrets provide in our line of work."

Finn was utterly silent for several minutes, his gaze never leaving the one headstone. He finally sighed heavily, an enormous plume of steam rising from his lips, disappearing into the icy wind as quickly as the others, and his eyes fell closed. Siddeley realized then how _old _he looked—how wholly exhausted and downtrodden the great Finn McMissile had actually become.

"Some things are meant to be kept in the dark, old friend."

The jet was quiet for a few moments, observing his elder companion solicitously as he thought. The Aston Martin might appear younger than he actually was while on missions, but once he was alone and no longer counted on—the assignment completed and perfectly executed, his inner demons—his burdens—would come crashing back down. But he had failed to hold it back now, even with the jet in his presence. The sanctity of this location had apparently been too much for the spy car to bear—even after so much time. Nearly five years if Siddeley recalled correctly. Five years exactly, in fact….

And judging by Finn's expression, and the faraway, dazed look in his eyes, the Aston Martin was clearly reliving it.

"You know…nothing is permanent, Finn."

The elderly car startled at the sudden words, although didn't turn to face his friend. His aqua-eyed gaze had instead returned to the gravestone, thinking about what was beneath the tombstone, beneath all the snow and sleet, beneath the dirt and earth….

His voice was low, and almost lost in the wind, but Siddeley still heard it. "….what about death?"

The jet gulped silently, though took this as his cue to continue, shuddering slightly as a stronger wind reached him.

"Well…yes. But try as we might…nothing stays forever. Even for those who are perfect."

Finn stiffened, his entire frame becoming rigid. But before he could block out the aircraft altogether—block out his emotions—Siddeley hurriedly went on.

"We all have our faults, our wits and our strengths…but also our weaknesses…no one is perfect, Finn. And we can't feel guilty for not being so."

The Aston Martin didn't breathe a word. Minutes passed, and ice began to form and stiffen again on the jet's wings, though he didn't voice his growing predicament, beginning to fear that he'd crossed some sort of line. He was given his answer however, when the spy car spoke again, his voice heavy and laced with age and grief.

"We had better return to Headquarters, Siddeley." His voice steadily grew crisper, professional. Foreign. "Wouldn't want your wings to freeze permanently."

Questioning for the umpteenth time how his elder comrade could be so vigil, the aircraft nodded cautiously. He still felt as if he were treading through a mine field, and one wrong move would make his entire effort blow up in his face. He didn't dare speak as the agent drove towards him, the ramp already lowered, and the comforting warmth of Siddeley's cabin beckoning him forward. The spy car's axles creaked as he drove up the small incline, though neither espionage vehicle voiced this. Within seconds, Finn was safely strapped inside, and the aircraft shook the ice from his wings for the last time, afterburners rumbling as he prepared to take off.

Before the rush of hot air and fire could scorch the ground however, the jet offered the headstone trio one final parting glance, and knew that whether or not he ever returned to this place, the words that were inscribed on the middle one—just beneath their agency's seal—would be forever branded into his memory.

_~Here Lies Faraman Leland Turbo~_

_Best friend, husband, and father_

_And the best agent in C.H.R.O.M.E. history _

_May he rest in peace _


	20. Dreamer

**#36 Dreamer**

_Cars and its characters belong to Pixar_

_A/N: An update! Rejoice! :D I had this idea on a whim... and I am now taking requests, or more suggestions! _

* * *

The echo of thunder that drew Finn from his sleep sounded far too close for comfort.

He blinked in the darkness, aqua eyes flitting to the round windows beside him, illuminated by pale moonlight. There were thick, rolling Cumulus clouds in the distance, growing alarmingly nearer.

"Siddeley," he croaked, quickly clearing his throat as the radio crackled to life, "Status report."

"Nothing too troubling, mate," the aircraft assured, and the spy car felt the plane bank slightly to the right. "We have a little storm heading our way, but if I travel lower, just above the ocean, we should avoid the worse of it."

Finn nodded, but they both knew the danger in that proposal. Flying too low could give away their position. Their safety always came first though, at least according to Siddeley. "Alright, old boy," he finally sighed, giving his consent. The jet's turbines rumbled in response. "But be careful."

He could almost see his companion's confident grin. "As always, Finn. But you should get some rest. You've barely slept since we left Prague."

The spy car hummed once. Siddeley heaved a sigh, though shuddered suddenly when a wave of hail and wind struck. Before Finn could open his mouth and ask if his companion was alright, the jet interrupted him. "I-I'm fine, Finn. Just need to concentrate."

Finn nodded once. "Very well. Good luck, old boy."

The radio went dead.

He exhaled once, gaze flickering to his nearby window again. It was madness out there, and his vision was obscured solely by the thick, black clouds. It seemed as if the Fates were set on making his life as difficult as possible. A strange sound drew his attention then. Turning in his seat, he laid eyes on his partner, dozing at her own station. But her sleep appeared to be fitful, and she jerked every so often, whimpering softly.

Finn felt his heart clench. While such displays of emotion were a taboo in his agency, Holley was still young, and he usually allowed several small moments of respite. But this was the first time she'd actually…_shown_ anything. The young Jaguar was by no means unsympathetic, but she wasn't usually one to be so careless in demonstrating such emotion, much less reacting to her current nightmare.

He expected the moment to pass, only a small break in her cool exterior, but minutes went by, and her lurid dream only seemed to become more potent. Finn sighed. He would have to intervene. "Miss Shiftwell?" he murmured, rolling out of his seat and onto the less stable ground. His partner was on the other side of the cabin, alongside the row of monitors, which she'd been looking over before exhaustion took hold. Finn frowned when she only mumbled something in response. On closer inspection, he saw the Jaguar looked utterly exhausted, even in sleep, and her brow was furrowed as she fought the throws of some nightmare. His frown deepened. He hadn't noticed that she was overworking herself.

"Miss Shiftwell?" he tried again, nudging her right tire, and taking care to mind her Taser in the opposite one. The younger car whimpered, wincing at some hidden pain or vision. Finn sighed, gently nudging her again. "Holley?" he whispered, and the tension in his frame lessened when she began to slowly pry her eyes open.

She blinked several times. "F-Finn?" she breathed, squinting, before her jade eyes snapped open wide. "O-Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—,"

The elder spy car interrupted her with a chuckle, waving off her embarrassment with a tire. "It's quite alright, Miss Shiftwell. I can hardly penalize you for having a nightmare."

Holley blushed. "Ah. So you noticed?"

"It was a bit hard not to," Finn quipped, though his expression grew grave and concerned in the next instant. "But…are you alright?"

The Jaguar flushed again, but she nodded stiffly. "I…I'm fine." A boom of thunder bellied her assurance, making her jump, and a flash of lightning illuminated the jet's cabin, allowing Finn to see her expression that would have otherwise been kept in shadow. His young partner looked terrified.

Finn awkwardly spun a tire. "I've heard that talking about these things can help, in some respect…"

Holley sighed, defeated. "Fine…" At her partner's prompting look, she sagged slightly. "Well…we were…you're going to think this is ridiculous….well, we were…inside Big Bentley again." The Aston Martin's eyelid's rose, but he didn't say anything. "And…well…" the Jaguar broke off, and Finn was stunned to see that she was holding back _tears_. "The machine had worked on McQueen…and Mater….Mater had already…." The younger spy car couldn't continue, lest she finally release her anguish.

Finn gently touched her tire with his own, and at the kind look in his aqua eyes calmed her. As the Aston Martin spoke, another roll of thunder echoed, and lightning illuminated the cabin, turning his blue paint silver. "This is nothing to worry about, Miss Shiftwell," he assured, gesturing with his tires. "We barely escaped from that trap with our lives and as for Mater…well," Finn sent her coy smile, "you two have been 'official' for little over two weeks now, and even before then you were worried out of your mind for him."

The Jaguar managed a small chuckle. "I suppose your right…"

"Of course I am," the elder car declared smugly, before his smirk molded into the same comforting smile. "You should rest, Miss Shiftwell. There's still a long journey ahead of us,"

Holley bobbed her front end, smiling softly. Finn mimicked her nod, and rolled back into his stabilized seat, and sank down onto his shocks. Before he closed his eyes, he heard his partner murmur, "Thank you, Finn."

The Aston Martin couldn't bring himself to answer. He heard his partner hunker down as well, and in a few moments her soft breathing could be heard again—she would sleep peacefully now, he was sure. But as he settled into his own fitful sleep, he thought, _hoped_, that his nightmares too would fade.


	21. Midnight

_**#74 Midnight**_

_****A/N: My apologies, but I will get onto your suggestions right after this! I just couldn't ignore the idea that came to me here. _

_Cars and its characters belong to Pixar. I only own the plot. _

* * *

_Designation: Faraman Leland Turbo_

_Current Residency: Classified_

_C.H.R.O.M.E. Level: First Class-Field (Deadly)_

_Expertise: 20+ Years _

_Academy Attended: C.A.G (C.H.R.O.M.E. Academy of Glasgow)_

_Current Age: 46_

_Model: Jaguar_

_Birth Date: March 14, 1966 _

_Affiliations: C.H.R.O.M.E., CIA, DGSE, MI6 _

_Familiars: Classified_

_Colleagues: Classified_

_Cover Occupation: Classified_

_Aliases: Classified_

_Current Location: __**Agent Leland Turbo has been declared Killed in Action since June 24, 2011**_

Finn's gaze didn't falter from the bright lettered list on the computer screen in front of him—his aqua eyes hadn't strayed for the past ten minutes now. The spacious communications room was surprisingly empty, but the Aston Martin supposed that it would because of the training exhibition several stories down. Two students from the Academy, proving their worth in front of a crowd of C.H.R.O.M.E. heads and several dozen agents themselves. He recollected himself in such a position once, so many years ago. But he hadn't been alone then, either.

The old spy car's gaze remained fixated on the variety of typed words, as if he concentrated enough on his friend's biography then the Jaguar would magically appear of out thin air. The vainest of wishes, of course.

A faint chime echoed through the facility, and Finn finally tore his gaze away. It was the Great Clock of Westminster, or Big Ben, as it was more commonly known, and its echoing gong signaled the change of the hour. The Aston Martin glanced up at the nondescript timepiece against the silver wall out of habit, and found the clock had struck twelve. A new day, and a new dawn.

His aqua eyes flickered towards the computer consol once more. A tremor of uncertainly passed through his gaze, before something hardened behind it. It was time to let go.

With the flick of a switch, the monitor instantly powered off. It felt as if something had faded with it for a moment, before Finn brushed off the feeling, and gave the saddest, chastest of smiles, as decade's worth of memories flashed before his eyes.

"Happy birthday, old friend."

* * *

_A/N: For those who do not know, today is Michael Cain's 79th birthday. I wrote this in his honor, as well as Leland's, and I thought it would be ironic if both of their birthdays were on the same day. So...enjoy, and review I guess :)_


End file.
